


It's Just a Little Sin

by goodworkperky



Category: Almost Human, Priest (2011), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human Dorian, M/M, Vampire John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodworkperky/pseuds/goodworkperky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The vampire John hears rumors about a certain human detective from other non-humans and his curiosity gets the better of him. He can't help but get close to Detective Dorian of the DRN unit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ichioftherainbow's fanart of the pairing Black Hat/Detective Sebastian
> 
> http://ichioftherainbow.tumblr.com/post/70194474782/that-moment-when-you-watch-2-movies-one-after

Blood mixes with puddles of dirty city rainwater and stains Dorian’s clothes until he is indistinguishable from the regular city tramps. Head spinning, the detective barely registers the crushing weight on his chest, but the smell of the sewer makes his stomach churn. Dorian tries to turn but the weight pins him down and he retches, turning his head enough to not asphyxiate on his vomit. Hands go to shove the weight off of his chest, but he can barely tell up from down and his fingers are slick with something warm and wet. 

“Hell of a hit.” 

The detective struggles to focus as he hears the rustle of clothes in the nighttime quiet. An unfamiliar man in worn and tattered coat and hat squats beside him, yellow eyes staring with predatory intensity. A shiver runs down the detective’s spine as he could only think: vampire.

“I heard about you, Detective.” The title lingers on the vampire’s tongue like he’s trying to taste it. He grabs the lapels of the other’s coat and hauls him upright. “Reckless for a human, aren’t you?”

Dorian looks down and realizes the weight he had been pinned under was the near decapitated corpse of a lycan. But he feels reassured by the cold weight of his gun clenched in his hand. He isn’t afraid even when the vampire bares his teeth and brings his mouth to the detective’s neck. The vampire stops short as the quiet click of the hammer being drawn back echoes off alley walls. 

“Keep it up and you’ll be licking it off the wall, asshole,” Dorian glares. The gun is pressed against his carotid, opposite the waiting mouth, the hungry breath making his skin crawl. 

The vampire smirks but he’s so close that he cannot help but flash his tongue out to lick the curve of the other’s neck. He grins as the detective jerks his head to the side and pulls away at the sound of sirens drawing close. “I’m not too fond of rushing my meals,” he laughs. As soon as he lets go, Dorian falls to a knee and a hand shoots out to keep him from tumbling headfirst into filthy puddles. For a brief second his eyes fall to the floor and when he raises his gaze the vampire is gone.

Paramedics ask him how much he remembers, why he and Detective Kolb were investigating the alleyway, if it was the single lycan or if there were more. Dorian watches them wheel away the Kolb’s mangled body, bright lights illuminating the silhouette beneath the body bag. He can’t remember anything. 

Dorian gets an MRI to check for bleeds, walks out when they suggest he stay for observation. A dull ache had settled into the joints on his right side and he felt a twinge whenever he inhaled too sharply. He steps forward when a cab passes by, holds up a hand. The hair on the back of his neck crawls and it’s the familiar sensation of being watched, but when he turns around it’s just a nurse coming outside with a cigarette between his lips and his eyes on the lighter just dug out of his pocket. Dorian ignores him and the creeping feeling of being watched to step into the cab. 

Not two steps through his front door and the phone gives a high pitched trill that sends a shot of pain behind the detective’s eyes. He toes the door closed.

“Dorian,” he answers without bothering to check the ID. 

“Explain to me why I’m looking at your discharge forms with ‘against medical advice’ written in large letters,” Captain Maldonado demands in a low voice, the irritation clear.

“I’m fine.” Dorian resists the urge to touch the stitches on the back of his head. “I’ll come in tomorrow morning—”

“No, you won’t. You’re getting a week off and a mandatory visit to a grief counselor.” 

“Captain—”

“And I’m sending Rudy over.” She could hear the noise of frustration he barely tries to hide. “Don’t fight me on this, Sebastian. You’re part of the DRN program, you know how closely they monitor us. I don’t care if you sit there and make origami swans, just see the counselor.” 

Dorian turned his eyes heavenward as he held the phone between his shoulder and ear to pour himself three fingers of bourbon, letting in rest for a moment. She must be desperate to use the name few people even knew. “Fine,” he replies after a long pause. “I’ll go to Rudy’s in the morning.”

“I’ll see you in a week.” 

Dorian hangs up the phone and sips slowly at his drinks as he shuffles through the halls of his apartment without bothering to turn on lights. With one hand, he begins to absentmindedly undo the buttons of his shirt but an unsuccessful attempt on the third makes him give up. The detective sits on the edge of the bed and kicks off his shoes, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on the nightstand. His head is pounding and the back of his throat feels like sandpaper, but he thinks more about the missing hours and the vampire in the tattered coat. Dorian tries to play his memories backwards but gets stuck on the smell of dust and blood, of the sight of golden eyes.

“Don’t think too hard.” 

Dorian sits up at the sound of a voice so close and, head spinning at the sudden movement, slips off the edge of the bed. A hand automatically goes for a gun that isn’t there and his heart stutters in fear. 

Blue eyes met golden and the deep, almost raspy voice meets the detective’s ears. “Careful, Detective.” The vampire is in the doorway but he closes the distance with near silent footsteps and hauls Dorian to his feet with the wall at his back. His eyes narrow slightly and head tilts as if studying the other. “DRN—detection and removal of non-humans. Nice little ways to say you’re getting rid of the plague of evolution.”

Dorian tries to push him off, but the vampire presses him harder against the wall and uses his body to keep him pinned. 

Dorian shifts his hip to find a knee between his thighs. “The amount of sexual undertones kind of kills the murderous vibe,” he says through clenched teeth because he’ll be damned if he can’t get in a jab as small as it may be. “You could have killed me in the doorway…or any time since you’ve been following me.” 

“You could have stayed there.” 

“But then I wouldn’t be able to find out why you killed that lycan. That’s more trouble for you.” 

“I was hungry and more than a little bored.”

Dorian hums, his mouth twisted as if in thought. “No,” he draws out the word. “I remember you said you heard about me. From who and why me?” 

The vampire smirks and his fangs catch the dim light filtered in through blinds. “Because I heard special things about you, Detective Sebastian Dorian Williams. That kind of talent’s wasted on trying to protect a dying species.”

The vampire slams Dorian’s head against the wall, fangs piercing the carotid artery. Dorian’s vision get darker but the hands let go of his shirt and he’s sliding down the wall. The last thing he remembers seeing is the vampire doubled over, spitting out his blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MXs are still robots, DRNs are genetically modified for the program, and all minor characters are kept human

Dorian hears his name in deep timbres of a rough voice. It makes him think vaguely of old bars with clouds of cigarette smoke and too many glasses of bourbon. But he doesn’t bother to open his eyes or try to pull himself back to consciousness because he’s trying to keep hold of memories that have faded like old photographs, trying to relive moments he can’t get back. Cutting through his memories is the sound of his name called again, rougher than before. Dorian drags himself back to wakefulness. Blue eyes blink owlishly and come in to focus on yellow. The detective runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth but it’s as dry as a desert and gets stuck on ridges. He swallows hard and it’s like consuming dust. A steady pounding increases in the back of his head, a beat in time with his heart.

“’Lazarus our friend has gone to rest, but I am journeying there to awaken him from sleep’,” the vampire quotes with a wicked grin. And as the words leave his lips, the faint wail of an ambulance cuts through the quiet backdrop. It’s sinful how well scripture flows from lips still touched with Dorian’s blood. But the Devil can quote scripture too. 

Early morning light filters in through blinds closed tight, lending only a little more illumination than city streetlamps. In this light, Dorian can see the vampire better. He can clearly see the tattoo of a cross on his brow that descends and fades halfway down the bridge of his nose. Despite the permanent mark of the church, golden eyes give the detective a predatory stare. And he’s barely a foot away, tongue running over teeth and wiping away blood flecks from the corner of his mouth. Dorian watches him but there seems to be a lag in his vision. A hollow thumping sounds in his ear. He struggles to push himself up and sit against the wall, wincing at the pain in his head and stiffened muscles. A hand goes up to his neck but he finds no bite mark, no tearing wound. It’s just dried blood and slight tenderness as a reminder.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Dorian murmurs, “I don’t think you did a very good job of it.” 

A rumbling laugh starts in the vampire’s chest, teeth bared in a macabre smile. “Is the lack of self-preservation a qualifying trait for DRNs or is it just you?”

“I like to think of it as an acquired skill.” Dorian looks up at the nightstand with eyes half-mast. The lamp has been knocked out of place and he lifts a hand to push it off, pieces skidding across wood floors.

“Dorian,” The vampire says in a breath, like he’s tasting it. He rises to his feet, eyes fix on the detective and watch every move as he braces a forearm on the night stand and hauls himself to his feet. “You are strange.”

“You are an ass,” the detective replies in an exasperated breath. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and stretches out his legs as he falls back and closes his eyes. And there’s a creeping sensation that runs up his spine that warns him of danger. He has a predator only feet from him but Dorian just wants to sleep. Maldonado was right; he should have stayed on the pill.

“I can hear your heart beat.”

Dorian throws an arm over his eyes. “A vampire with heightened senses. I would never have known,” he drones with sarcasm dripping from his voice.  
“You smell normal but your blood taste like gunpowder and medication.” The vampire’s lip turned up in a look of disgust. “I couldn’t turn you. Why? You’re not a genetic defective, are you?” 

“Feeling a little off your game?” Dorian brings both hands to cover his face and groans as he presses fingertips to his eyes until he sees stars. Inhaling slowly, he realizes that this stranger had permeated the air. It’s tinged with the faint sent of earth and blood, dust and wood. Dorian laughs, a rough sound coming from a sandpaper throat. He doesn’t know why this vampire, this ‘plague’ as he had called himself, didn’t kill him and move on. He sits up and rests his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together between his knees. “You don’t know anything about the DRN program, do you? You can’t turn a DRN.”

The vampire removes his hat and sits it down on the stand. His hair is a dark brown but lightened by too much dust. He smiles like a Cheshire cat and a spark of interest appears in his eye. “Enlighten me.”

Dorian fixes a stare on amber colored eyes and sits up, leaning forward with his elbows on his lap and hands clasped together beneath his chin. “What kind of vampire are you?” 

Taking a step forward, he replies, “Nothing you’ve seen before. Oh, I’m still a vampire—only one of my kind.” 

“If you’re looking for a partner, you should have bought me a drink first.”

Crossing the room, the vampire stands beside the window and Dorian has to look over his shoulder to keep him in sight. He stays in the shadows but glances outside the space between the blinds. “Do you think that this is all there is? These…lycans and vampires that you’ve seen. Species evolve. The things you fear hide in sewers and live like animals. But all of this, he moves his hand languidly, gesturing to the entire city, “will be wiped clean of that fear.” 

“By what?” 

Beads of sweat line the other’s forehead. His teeth scrape lightly over his bottom lip. “Something better…or worse, depending on your view. And you and your DRNs won’t stop it. Those Death Dealers can’t fight it. Waves will come and destroy the useless plague of humanity.” A hand absentmindedly fans the air in lazy arcs. Amber eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the city.

“Après moi, le deluge,” the detective murmurs with an indifferent sigh just as his phone gives a high-pitched trill from his pocket. 

A heavy silence fills the space between rings. Dorian lets it keep going until it stops. But it’s only a moment’s peace before it starts again. He reaches in to his pocket, not expecting his hand to make it out. But it does and he answers with a breath he thinks may be his last.

“Hello?” But nothing happens except the faint rustle of the worn coat. 

“Dorian?” It’s Valerie who replies, her voice shaking slightly. “Have you been cleared by Rudy yet?” 

“No.” Dorian stands slowly. “What happened?” 

“A new infection, subcategorized as vampire. They killed two teams earlier this morning. Only one body recovered before daylight hit. Dorian, it’s nothing we’ve seen before. They must have come over the Wall.” 

A pause, teeth scraping against the bottom lip. “Call Paul,” he replies as a shiver runs down his spine at the sense of invaded space. A soft thud sounds behind him. “I have to go.”

“Dorian, wait.” A beat. “I get it, you know. You shouldn’t have been brought back so soon, but you’re one of the reasons the DRN program was revived. Marks and Mitchell were killed last night, Maldonado’s been in five different meetings, the CDC is ordering everyone to get checked. They’re thinking of going door to door again. We need to get things under control.”

The detective leans forward with his hand over his eyes. A deep breath fills every space of his lungs. “Aright, I’ll be in soon.” 

Valerie gives a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

An easier silence fills the air as he hangs up. Looking over the edge of the bed, the detective can see the vampire lay in a heap on the floor. He growled from between clenched teeth, his hand struggling to open and close in a fist.

“You’ve probably been feeling sick since you tried to drink my blood,” Dorian says easily as he stands slowly, keeping upright by sheer strength of will. “The same antibodies that prevent me from turning into a vampire, incapacitate vampires. Call it a DRN failsafe; if I can’t kill you, something or someone else probably will.” He drags the other up and dumps him unceremoniously on the end of the bed. “The numbness will wear off in an hour, the paralysis in three. After that you’ll get sick and sensitive to any and all light. But you’ll live. For the most part, your kind always does.”

The vampire makes a small noise as if in laughter. Dorian doesn’t care. He’s only still standing by sheer stubbornness, and uncertain footsteps carry him to the adjoining bathroom. As soon as the door closes behind him, Dorian drops to a knee. Teeth bite into his tongue until he tastes blood. His hands shake as he lifts his shirt because the adrenaline is wearing off and pain is starting to seep in. An array of lights dance beneath synthetic skin that seams together almost flawlessly with organic. And he’s not sure if he can last the hour because there’s a faint beeping and a sharp pain in his side that’s akin to a stabbing. He feels like a hastily built puppet made from a glue stick and spare parts.  
There’s a cocktail of drugs in the medicine cabinet that can easily take away the pain, return functions to at least something that resembles normal. But Dorian doesn’t reach for it. This is another failure to add to the list. So he picks up his phone again. 

“Stahl.” Dorian sits against the wall and tries to breathe easy. Inhale. Exhale. “Don’t kill him. Whatever this is, he knows.”

And Valerie’s asking fifty questions in the same breath but Dorian doesn’t have the energy to answer. Everything feels like secondhand information, like thoughts are blending together seamlessly. He’s barely conscious of the movement of time, doesn’t think about it until he hears his front door kicked in and the sound of footsteps shuffling through the apartment. His name is called but it reaches his ears like a faint echo. In the space of a blink, Dorian’s staring up at Stahl. Valerie sets her lips in a thin line, holsters the gun held ready in her hand and kneels to put fingers against his carotid. The lightness of her touch feels like a hit, fingers pressing on the same spot where fangs had torn into his neck. Dorian jerks away with a hiss.

“Hold on, Dorian,” Valerie demands as she shifts through his medicine cabinets and comes up with individualized packages of pre-filled syringes. She doesn’t even rip through plastic shielding before there are two quick gunshots.

Dorian tries to stay focused. But he feels like an endless succession of labored breaths and a weight settles in his chest. He feels the weight of a gun pressed in to the palm of his hand as he’s pulled upright to lean against the doorframe. And there comes the sound of silicon and carbon fiber ripping apart, MXs tearing to shreds with what sounds like relative ease. And Dorian’s just trying to keep the double vision at bay. The beeping of synthetic parts is becoming louder, more frequent. Stahl takes aim at the vampire but he moves with a speed that she can’t match. Bullet holes decorate the walls. 

Dorian steps between them before their target can close the distance, unable to shoot with the tremor that’s started in his hand. Dorian catches the vampire with a quick jab to the side and rewards him with the faint cracking of ribs. The vampire lifts his gun—the stolen MX’s gun. A faint upturn of his lip in a sneer and he looks almost hesitant to use it. The world shifts almost violently and the detective feels his weight go off balance. He catches himself on the doorframe but keeps himself between the others. There’s a gun trained right on his center of mass but he doesn’t mind. There are worse things to be than a bullet catcher.

Valerie tries to radio for backup. She can’t get her transmitter to her ear before a bullet clips Dorian’s ear and shatters the device in her hand. A cry of surprise escapes her, shards of the transmitter falling on bathroom tiled floor. Dorian blinks and feels a body pressed against his, strong arm wrapping around him to pin his arms to his side. There comes a strangled cry but he can’t do more than remember to breathe. The warning beep of synthetic machinery grows ever louder at a steadily quickening pace. Every breath is agonizingly slow.

Dorian’s world changes drastically and he realizes he’s been lifted onto the other’s shoulder. And in the corner of his eye he can see the vampire reach for the syringe—pre-measured medication. Just the right dose to keep him working like a moderately oiled machine. Fresh off the scrapheap condition.  
Maybe Dorian let slip Valerie’s name, maybe he reached without realizing it. But the vampire sits him on the edge of the bed and mutters, “Your partner’s still alive.” He says it like it’s something vile. He presses the meds into the detective’s palm.

Amber eyes never leave Dorian’s stare as he tears the pale blue packaging with his teeth. Sterile taste on his tongue, the detective pulls up the sleeve of his shirt and makes a fist. But the tremor is worse and he can’t hold the needle steady.

The vampire takes the syringe from his hand and steadies his arm about as gently as a clamp. Eyes go to skin already marked with a scattering of needle marks. It’s all countless tests, injections, doctors all telling him the same thing in so many words. He doesn’t know that yet he’s inferred as much and stayed silent.

“Dorian.” The detective’s name rolls off the tongue with the barest hint of a southern twang. “Just what do they do to make DRNs?”

“Tell you a lot of half-truths,” Dorian answers, tongue nearly tripping over itself as simple functions start to return. He watches the other indifferently. Self-preservation is at a distinct low. But medication’s flooding his bloodstream and he feels like he’s taken two steps away from death—small victories. When that is finished, there’s the secondary package, the accompanying pill, the chaser. He dry swallows with familiar ease. It’s bitter like chalk and tastes like battery acid. “Stahl?”

“Your partner? Unfortunately, she’s still alive and in better condition than you.” 

Dorian runs a hand roughly over his cheek. Worry doesn’t factor in to emotions. The program trains against it. But he has learned to gain information in every opportunity. “What’s your name?”

“Why?”

Because there are a thousand questions lingering on the detective’s tongue but he settles for the shortest. Dorian merely shrugs a reply. There’s a moment of hesitation before the vampire answers, “It wouldn’t make a difference.” A faint frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Dorian’s gaze takes in every bit of the other, trying to learn whatever he can. “You’re from over the wall. Vampires…there aren’t many left.”

“You have no idea what’s on the other side of that wall, do you? Vampires there aren’t as tame as the ones you have here. Humans are pushed to extinction and your…shining city is soon going to be the only food source left. Kind of like a refrigerator, little meat packages walking around.” He smiles like he thinks it’s funny but his eyes look dead.

“So why are you keeping me alive?” Dorian stares at him, just wanting an answer that he can believe. 

“I might as well have a little fun before the world goes to hell. Besides, if you’re not committing sin, you’re not having fun.”

“You’re insane.” But Dorian says it like it’s an everyday occurrence. “What’s your name?” he asks again.

The vampire blinks as if he’s unsure how to answer. “What’s yours?” he asks with genuine interest. 

Dorian realizes that he is talking about earlier, the way Maldonado used his old name. “It’s Dorian,” he answers firmly. He lifts his chin defiantly and meets the vampires stare. 

The other looks at him like he’s a curiosity, a wonder. “You can call me John,” he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would rather be baptized in burning oil than go through the supreme writer's block I had on this again. Or I would sell my soul to write better.


End file.
